


Softly, softly

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: untold sunrises [1]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Alpha Tony, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Clay, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Running Away, Tony and Clay become mountain men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Sometimes the only way to move on is to escape.





	1. Chapter 1

Drowning. He's always drowning, grasping, clawing for the surface-

Clay wakes gasping for breath more often than not, pushing the sweat-sodden sheets from his clammy skin, shaking as he strips his bed for the third time that week. Thank god for small mercies; it's only sweat dampening his sheets. He doesn't think he could take any more humiliation.

It’s been three months since Alex shot himself; two and a half since Tyler shot up the school. Loud noises make Clay flinch, and the free therapist assigned to him talks about gentle reintegration and little yellow pills. In the sallow half-light of the bathroom, Clay fingers the slowly healing flesh to the left of his abdomen, where the bullet skimmed the tip of his hipbone and punched its way out the other side.

His fingers itch to punch something, his voice scratchy to scream. He wants to drown his sorrows in a gallon of paint, splattered across stark clean canvas. Instead he clicks off the dingy light and breathes in the dark.

\---

Tony is waiting, as usual, in the early dawn light, a pale apparition. Clay presses his lips together till they turn white, fingernails biting clean through weak flesh. Tony hides behind shades, but Clay knows he feels it too- the raging torrent threatening to drag them all under.

They could drive until they run out of road and it still wouldn't be enough to escape their ghosts. When Tony misses the turn for the hills, the retreat into the woods Clay begged his parents for, he can't summon up the energy for surprise.

They are supposed to be gone for two days and a night; but as their hometown disappears in the rearview, Clay feels only relief. He tosses both their phones out of the window when Tony's pushing 90 down the interstate. Shame is an emotion he can't remember.

\---

Clay’s great uncle Rudy had a cabin in Georgia. He hasn't been there since he was about 9 years old - Rudy died long ago and left the place to his parents, who have never found the time for another visit, not even to clear it out. It's a fucking disgrace, but that's the Jensens for you. Always avoiding responsibility.

Clay surprises himself how well he remembers the way. Facebook is a godsend; stored photographs at an internet cafe providing precious clues.

In the rural wilds, not far from the stream Clay learnt to fish in, a wooden cabin rests alone, far from a horror movie staple. Closer to a twee postcard of the pastoral idyll. Tony snorts when Clay expresses annoyance at a lack of keys, swiftly shouldering in the back door.

The generator still works, and after years of dust are cleared, the place is actually cosy, with worn rugs and a real fireplace. Of course Tony can swing an axe and chop firewood. Clay settles for building something edible out of the scant supplies they bought from the general store.

\---

Clay's toes curl as he arches his back, biting off moans with bold teeth. Tony rocks the ancient mattress with each thrust, rolling deep and plundering that spot within Clay with dexterous impunity. They ran out of condoms after the first month, both of them too lazy to care when the air was close, thick with oppressive, sticky heat, and all they wanted was to sweat all over one another. Clay couldn't imagine relinquishing the drag of Tony's bare cock inside of him now that he's had a taste of the sensation. He's too greedy to give it up.

He pants, wanton and unbridled, rolling his hips into Tony's savage thrusts. Clay comes with a sob, bypassing his small, stubbornly hard dick to finger his own clit, clamping down on Tony. His man casually rolls them over, ungelled hair fanning out on the pillow as he lets Clay work himself up into another frenzy. He fucks himself on Tony's thick cock, rolling his hips savagely as Tony's knot begins to form. Clay shudders through another orgasm when that knot punches into his tight cunt, crying out at the intensity of it, shocked to see his little dick spurt untouched as his pussy spasms. It hurts so good; the burn and stretch just the right kind of wrong.

\---

They don't talk about home. Clay barely remembers to miss his parents, busy as their days become. Maintaining a life, scratching an existence from dirt; the chores are endless. The wildly tangled vegetation had to be hacked back, weeds separated from fruit and veg bearing plants that they only had a few crusty old books published in the eighties to identify with. Bread needs to be slammed into existence, Clay bashing out all his frustration on the dough. They fumble their way through fishing, using Rudy’s unloved equipment, Tony catching on quicker than should be fair. They wander the trails, careful not to get lost. Rudy had a satellite phone; it sits pristine in its packaging, instructions included.

From dusk till dawn they occupy themselves with living; off the land, off each other. They don't mention Clay's swollen belly, not even when the outline of little hands and feet can be seen, pushing against the thinning barrier of his skin from the occupant inside. Tony brings home a few cases of prenatal vitamins and some books on fetal development and home birth.

It’s stupid, but it's enough. They are lucky enough that labour ripples through Clay in the wee hours, culminating in a mess of blood and gunk that same evening, as their son comes hollering into the world. After sweating, panting and pissing like a racehorse before pushing a new human out of his body, Clay is woozy enough to merit a few days in bed. He remembers reading about maids giving birth in closets and under market stalls, then going right back to work in history class. School feels like another life but it's enough inspiration to get Clay rolling out of bed, hungry baby clinging to a nipple on his newly swollen chest.

\---

Clay's surprised how quickly his pussy snaps back, all those silly juvenile taunts about gaping stretching proven false. He’s not noticeably looser for having shoved a baby out of there. There's something incredibly intimate about sex with Tony afterwards; knowledge that the hard dick slowly piercing him, carefully carving Clay apart, planted the seed that grew into the softly snoring babe beside them, irrevocably changing everything. Clay clings to Tony, the father of his baby, his partner in all things, as they softly rock themselves to completion, in more ways than one.


	2. Chapter 2

They spend a lot of time in silence. Rudy had a vinyl player; naturally Tony adores it. They listen to warbling records for as long as Clay can stand, before he bans all music, save for the melodic gurgles of their son. (It takes them a week to come up with a name, something wholly his own, with no negative connotations for either of them.) They settle on calling him Charleston Samwise, a mouthful that Tony playfully gags on, dissolving into a blush when Clay insists his surname should be Padilla. According to society, alpha recognition is the most important thing Charlie's sire can give him, but Tony maintains that it's his honour to hand down his name, not the other way around. Clay scoffs, but allows Tony to distract him with kisses. Then Charlie clamors for attention, and their argumentative stirring is soon forgotten.

After a month and a half, they drive many miles to the nearest hospital, once Tony brings home a car seat from the thrift store. They can register his birth and get both Charlie and Clay checked over. The nurse glowers at Tony when he admits the home birth and lack of medical assistance till this point. Still, they've broken no laws and there's nothing she can do about it, if they choose to live off the grid. Clay draws the line at vaccination though. He's not about to let their baby die from some disease practically eradicated in the dark ages, out of some bullshit commitment to free organic living. They get Charlie immunized with everything humanly possible, though Tony sighs at the thought of repeating this journey in a few weeks to keep up with his shots.

On their way home they pass the town hall, and Tony pulls over, to Clay's confusion. It’s late in the afternoon, the baby is cranky, and there's stew in the pot waiting for them on the fire. There's nothing more Clay wants to do than get home and burrow himself into their blankets before passing out in Tony's arms. Wordlessly, Tony hands Clay a change of clothes for both him and Charlie, and leads him to the bathroom. They change into the newest, cleanest clothes they have left. The only things that haven't been soiled by dirt, grass stains and sweat, torn and haphazardly sewn back together by Clay's fumbling, inexperienced fingers. No, these clothes are pristine by comparison, leather jacket included, Charlie's onesie an indulgent, soft fluffy tux, complete with novelty bowtie, that Clay found at the dollar flea market, practically new.

When they leave the baby change bathroom, they see Tony's shaved for the first time since they moved here, and it's a shock how young he looks under his mountain beard. Clay, of course, doesn't grow facial hair, like all omegas. Charlie is fascinated, patting Tony's face in obvious confusion. Clay doesn't ask questions, just follows Tony to see the Judge, two strangers tagging along behind. They say their vows in quiet murmurs each night: repeating them in flowery language in front of strangers makes no odds, regardless of the solemnity of the situation. Tony kisses his hand after he slips the ring onto his finger, and Clay is surprised to feel the tears dripping off the end of his chin.

Tony has a instant print Polaroid camera, another relic from their past life, one of the few that made the transition with them. They pose for snaps taken by their witnesses, who smile at their young love and coo over Charlie. The road back is smooth; Clay falls asleep to the sound of Tony's wheels gripping the smooth asphalt before it turns into the familiar dirt track of home.

\---

Clay insists on sending a photograph of them all, post ceremony, to his parents. Tony is furious, refuses to allow it, and it leads to their first real, knuckle down, screaming fight. Tony starts toward him, a movement too quick for comfort, and Clay's flinch back is involuntary. It doesn't matter that Tony has never hit him; that Clay knows Tony’d rather die than hurt them, him and Charlie both. He knows what those fists can do, has seen it for himself. For a moment, Clay is truly afraid. Then a look of mounting horror rises on Tony's face, the realisation of what Clay was scared of, what he believed him capable of. Tony leaves without a word, the slam of the screen door and screech of the tyres doing all the talking for him.

Clay expects him back that night, but when the sun rises and the car and Tony are still gone, he begins to worry. He gives it a few hours; maybe Tony splashed out on a flea-ridden motel, is nursing a hangover and needs to caffeinate himself before sobering up for the drive home. He and Charlie spend the day at the river, catching fish. Charlie tucked under layers of blankets in his bassinet, a safe distance back from the rushing current, where Clay has waded in up to his waist in borrowed galoshes. He catches several trout, enough for him and Tony to salt a couple, and give one to their loosely termed neighbours, who live over the ridge, an hour on foot, from whom they borrowed the extra fishing equipment at the start of the off season. When the family of five leave their summer cabin and return to their real lives, unlike Tony and Clay, who they seem to look upon with a bizarre mix of pity and amusement.

When Clay returns home to cook up his catch, Tony is nowhere to be seen, the house shut up tight, no indication he has been back. Charlie gurgles unhappily over the sound of the sizzling pan, as Clay tosses in a little rosemary and a few shallots, steadfastly ignoring the lack of his man, who would be getting a fire started and insisting on playing Rudy's records, if this were any other night. Charlie is bereft, missing Tony as much as Clay aches to know he’s safe.

On the third day, Clay places the satellite phone on their rickety kitchen table, and carefully reads through the instructions. His sits there for ages, nursing his crotchety baby, who has been whining since he woke up, it feels like. This is the longest he and Tony have been apart since their baby was born, the longest Charlie has been without his sire in his whole tiny life, and if it's an indication of things to come, Clay wants no part of it. He gently rocks from side to side, something like a lullaby falling from his pursed lips, as his son guzzles greedily from his plump, swollen breast.

Clay picks up the satellite phone several times throughout the day, as he goes about his chores, the sun creeping across the sky like a skittish bird hopping closer to a lump of bread. (Apparently chopping firewood is harder than Tony made it seem, and there are blisters on Clay's hands, shirt clinging to his back, the sweat could fill a bucket, but he keeps going because the nights are getting longer and colder, frosty mornings the new norm.) But after careful consideration, Clay always puts the phone back, unwilling to shatter the peace of their hilltop paradise, to let everyone intrude on their restorative retreat at the first sign of trouble. Tony would never forgive him.

After another full day alone, Clay curls up in his blanket mound with their sleepy, grumpy baby, anger far from his thoughts as he longs for his husband to come home.


	3. Chapter 3

The ire comes rushing up to choke Clay again, when Tony shuffles in sheepishly, tail almost visibly tucked between his legs, though of course he has no such appendage. Clay glares at him, following it up with a shove to the chest. It's worry that motivates him, and he makes sure Tony knows it. Clay thought he was dead in a ditch, and who would have known where to find him to let him know if Tony was hurt? All valid concerns that somehow slipped their minds until this hurt moment.

He allows Tony to wrap him in his stocky arms, relishing the chance to nestle into his warm, broad chest. Clay's suddenly exhausted, fear and confusion catching up to him, now he is finally able to allow his vigilance to dissipate, because Tony is here to share the load. He lets Tony back into his nest because he’s craved the company. But he's still pissed, and Tony’s going to feel it, in the coming days. Just not right at this moment; right now Clay needs the warmth of strong arms to hold him and protect him as he sleeps.

The distinctive scent of his sire settles Charlie also, who instinctively coos with pleasure at Tony's return, tiny wrinkled forehead smoothing out of its perpetual frown into peacefully relaxed baby soft skin, all within the blissful cocoon of sleep. When he wakes, Charlie will be overjoyed, liable to scream if Tony so much as considers setting him down, for an entire day. Clay will relish that free form of penance, as he sees Tony struggle to remove the tiny gnarled fingers clutching his shirt so he can use the bathroom.  But for now, they nod off, content and calm for the first time in days.

\---

Clay doesn't ask where Tony has been. Maybe that makes him a coward, it probably speaks to a lack of assertiveness at least, but then Clay has never been brave by default. Courage is something he has to dig deep for, when the situation demands it, when it was necessary. It took daring to climb a cliff freehand, and far more to face up to a rapist and tape his confession. Toughest of all was acknowledging his own part in Hannah's death, his own failings that tipped Tyler over the edge. Bravery alone wasn't enough to steel him at Courtney, Zach and Jessica's funerals, but the knowledge of how lucky he was to survive that bullet helped. Besides, he doesn't think he wants to know the answer.

He doesn't want to know how far Tony got before he turned around. Even entertaining the thought that Tony considered leaving them for good, is enough to leave him crippled with grief. For the first time since they washed off the normal mingled scents of clothes washed in a family home, Tony's clothes smell like other people. Clay tells himself it's only offensive because he's no longer used to it, and so pungent because Tony slept in some frequently used motel room. He hates himself a little when he catches himself scenting Tony's shirt collar, trying to detect the scent of a foreign omega. He knows well enough that Tony isn't the kind to cheat, though an insidious inner voice reminds him of the emotional straying Tony did from Brad, in order to so easily fall into Clay's willing arms and bed, as soon as they were officially through. Tony wouldn't jeopardise all they have for a quick fuck, of that Clay is certain.

So he doesn't rock the boat any more than necessary; though he does physically kick Tony out of the nest the next morning, with every intention of not letting him back in till he proves himself worthy. Tony grumbles good naturedly, setting water on the stove to boil and scrounging up breakfast out of their remaining eggs. Predictably, Charlie squirms and cheeps in eager reunion with his father, loathe to let Tony out of his sight. Clay feels the same way.

He slips on a nightie to cover his nakedness; he may have been too tired for reconciliation sex last night, but he's all rejuvenated now, and going in for the kill. Clay fully intends on being a tease until his husband is a drooling, insatiable mess, begging for whatever scraps Clay will benevolently allow him. The traditional omega slip is a relic they laughed over in the thrift shop, a deep south bible-belt Redneck’s dream fantasy come to life, at least when Clay wears it anyway. White cotton covered in tiny pink flowers, it skims his thighs, leaving just enough to the imagination, pink lace filled out nicely on top by his plump chest. Charlie is quickly distracted by the sanctity of food, clutching greedily at Clay's scarcely covered breasts, as his nipples harden in anticipation of fulfilling their duty. 

Clay smirks dangerously as Tony stares, dry-mouthed, failing to conceal his hunger for more carnal pursuits as Charlie's little hands inadvertently free one heavy breast. The baby lets out a note of triumph as he closes his insistent mouth around one hard, dark nipple; Clay unable to stifle a moan of relief as his achy, swollen breast is quickly drained by his son’s guzzling mouth. Tony emits a sound like he’s been punched in the stomach, beating a hasty, tactical retreat outside, shuffling awkwardly, bending at the waist to conceal or ease his erection, chased by the tinkle of Clay's laughter. It's just too delightful; deliciously easy.

\---

He thinks nothing of it when Tony hammers on the door a little while later; the eggs are done, the baby in a food coma that will likely last the length of eating them, and lawd knows where Tony tossed his keys in his rush. Clay gets a shock when he starts telling Tony off for forgetting them, only to find himself faced with a sheriff’s deputy, calmly viewing him in all his scantily clad glory.

The man hastily removes his hat, blushing and calling him ma’am, but without a stammer or stutter of embarrassment, revealing he is no wet behind the ears rookie. His spine is straight as he asks after the man of the house, specifically ‘your husband, ma’am’, and Clay spares a thought to be grateful, he’d already tugged up the strap that had fallen so Charlie could access his meal, so his perky boobs are at least covered by flimsy lace, if nothing else. Then he’s leaning against the doorframe where it meets the porch, hollering for his husband and hoping for the best.


	4. Announcement

May is a super busy month for me; starting tomorrow I have a hen do, then I'm going on holiday, then its back to work, then the wedding, more work, then I'm going to a 4 day festival. So don't despair, part 2 is coming, its just unlikely to be this month!

Blessings upon you all, dear readers xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Will be continued in Part 2 of a series!


End file.
